


Charmed

by Septum5empra



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: F/M, marriage law
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 12:52:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15663603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Septum5empra/pseuds/Septum5empra
Summary: My take on the Marriage Law troupe. To boost the population, a new Ministry Department has passed a law requiring young witches and wizards to marry and begin repopulating the magical community. With the aid of a little magic, unwed parties will have to choose a partner, or begin a search for their most compatible match. What surprises might they find along the way? DRAMONIE.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing but an over-active imagination.
> 
> Hello there! I wanted to take a swing at one of my favorite Dramonie troupes, Marriage Law. I was inspired by a tumblr post I saw on Pinterest outside of the HP fandom. For those of you who have been following along with my WIP Questions of Convenience, I haven't abandoned it. I like multitasking :)
> 
> Here is their post "I wish there were necklaces given to us at birth that were half of a unique shape and your soulmate wore the other half and they got warmer the closer together you were and colder the further away you were so you could go on this journey when you're ready to find your other half so that you could be spared all the pain and heartbreak of being played with by those who don't take dating as seriously as you do."
> 
> This story won't follow this premise to the letter. It isn't a choice for our beloved characters to set out on this journey, not really. And they may not be happy with what they find along the way. At least not in the beginning.  
> Shorter chapters and more frequent updates. Rating M for smut in later chapters (because I love it). Eventual Dramione. Mentions of Romione. And hopefully a few laughs and tears along the way.  
> psyducked : whoever and wherever you are, thanks for the inspiration!

The Law

"This is complete rubbish!" Hermione exclaimed from her seat next to Ron. It was merely her 17th such outburst in the 20 or so minutes that had passed since she and the remainder of the Weasley clan had arrived outside the newly formed Department for Magical Population Security. The title of the department was rubbish as well in her opinion. And she felt she was controlling herself quite well, given the circumstances.

Ron reached out a comforting hand as Molly and Arthur looked on with solemn expressions. Hermione jerked her hand away. She didn't need comfort. She needed these pencil pushers at the Ministry to remove their heads which were clearly up their own arses, and repeal this blasted law.

A year had passed since the end of the second wizarding war. And in that time, the Ministry had successfully developed a plan to ruin everyone's lives.

The magical population was dwindling. Yes. Of course it was. Hermione wasn't blind. There had been so many casualties, on both sides. What did they expect? But this rash law they had passed was not the answer. What did they mean by forcing people to marry and begin having children before they were ready? It was barbaric!

"I don't WANT to get married!" She shouted to no one in particular. "Not to ANYONE." She didn't miss how Ron winced at her words, drawing his body in toward himself and away from her.

Ok, so she and Ron hadn't worked out. And maybe she shouldn't have been so harsh in her rejection of his proposal once the law was announced. But she didn't want to marry him, or anyone, just to avoid being subject to this ridiculous ordeal.

"Maybe it won't be so bad," Ginny offered from her seat across from Hermione.

"Easy for you to say, Gin. No offense, but this really doesn't have anything to do with you. You have Harry. You love each other. He would have proposed to you after graduation on his own." She paused dramatically as her eyebrows furrowed and she shot an accusing glare to the closed door on the far side of the room before continuing. "WITHOUT MINISTRY INTERFERENCE!"

She barked the last sentence out, hoping they could hear her on the other side.

Ginny's face hardened, but she refrained from reacting to her friends harsh words with too much anger.

"I may not be subject to the law, but don't forget that half of my family is! And that includes YOU, Mione."

Before either witch could say anything else, Harry burst in the small waiting area. His brow slick with sweat and his hair even more unkempt than usual.

"Sorry! Sorry! I was ambushed by reporters in the atrium. This place is a mad house!"

Ginny's face softened and she rose to greet her fiancé, giggling as she attempted to pat down his dark hair.

"It's ok. They haven't seen anyone yet. Whoever is in there is taking their sweet time."

"I HOPE THEY ARE CAUSING AS MUCH OF A SCENE IN THERE AS I PLAN TO!"

Everyone in the room winced this time at the tone and volume of Hermione's exclamation.

"I know it's not….ideal," Harry offered, " but at least the ministry is trying."

"Trying to, what, exactly?! Pair us up and force us to breed like cattle?"

"It's not as if everyone doesn't have a choice," Ron mumbled.

"Some choice we have! Get engaged before our appointment, have our wands broken and move to the muggle world, or…..this…"

Just then, the office door flung open, almost coming off its hinges, and none other than Draco Malfoy stormed into the sitting area.

"MARK MY WORDS, WITCH! This will NOT end well for you!" The blonde wizard froze suddenly, realizing the room was full. With a scowl, he took stock of its occupants, straightened, then gave a curt nod in greeting. That was apparently as cordial as a Malfoy could get in a room full of Weasleys.

"Hello, Malfoy."

"Potter. Weasleys." The latter name seemed to ooze from his lips. In irritation or disgust, Hermione didn't know, but her galleons were on the latter. To everyone's surprise, he didn't leave. Instead he continued his rant.

"This," he held out his hand, which held a small pendant on a delicate silver chain, "is utter rubbish!"

Finally having found a kindred spirit who was as outraged as she, Hermione stood, taking a few steps toward her former classmate and threw her hands up.

"THANK YOU! Finally, someone else who sees this for what it really is!" She turned to face the room. "This is what I've been telling you all this whole time. Even Malfoy can see how ridiculous this law is."

Behind her, Malfoy arched a brow, taken aback by being on the same side as the witch in front of him for the first time ever. But then, her words sank in, and his face flared in outrage.

"Don't tell me you lot actually agree with this law?" He spoke accusingly. Every redhead, and Harry, hung their heads. They didn't agree with it, no, but they had accepted it.

Hermione knew this, but she had expected more anger. More shouting. More fight from a family of Gryffindors. But the war had taken a lot from the Weasleys. And their will to fight, anything or anyone, had been lacking ever since.

A short witch with a round face and beady eyes appeared in the doorway behind Malfoy. Her voice was shrill and startled Hermione as she spoke.

"Granger, Hermione Jean." She watched with slight amusement as Malfoy's eye twitched and his jaw tightened at hearing the woman's voice. But not wanting to lose any of the fury she had summoned to unleash upon the Ministry, she quickly pushed her humor aside and squared her shoulders, as if preparing to march into battle.

Both she and Malfoy began walking at the same time. She toward the beady-eyed witch and he toward the hallway. As they passed, their eyes meet for a moment. Both filled with fire and anger.

"Give her hell, Granger."

She froze, glancing over her shoulder and watched the tall wizard as he strode proudly through the open doorway and out of sight. That may have been the most civil conversation I've ever had with Malfoy.

"Miss Granger." She winced. Looking back toward her destination and the woman who was to be the harbinger of her demise.

As she entered the cramped office, the door clicking shut behind her, all thoughts of Malfoy disappeared.


	2. The Pendant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing but an overactive imagination.

Hermione sat at her kitchen table, staring at the small silver object which would soon seal her fate. Since the Ministry announced the new law, she had screamed, cried, hexed, argued, and researched. Those avenues having now been exhausted, all she had left was hate.

That's how she had come to her current position, glaring at the charmed necklace in front of her, focusing all her energy toward it. She hated it. She hated the obscure abstract shape of the pendant. She hated the dainty chain on which it hung. She hated how it glistened in the light. And she hated what it signified; the end of her ability to choose.

The charm placed on it was the same as every other one the Ministry had forced upon the youth of the wizarding world. Its premise based on the complex connections and law of allegiance and attraction of wandlore.

_The wand chooses the wizard._ And in a way, her wand would also choose her husband.

That's how it had been explained. Hermione poured over every available text and parchment the Ministry had allowed her to get her hands on in the month leading up to her appointment. The Ministry had created a charm, that combined with each witch or wizard's magical signature, would help them seek out their most compatible match.

They created hundreds of pendants that, once charmed, took on their own unique shape. Each witch and wizard was summoned to confirm their understanding of the law and to infuse the pendant with their magic; A simple tap of their wands was all that was required.

"You trust your wand, don't you Miss Granger? You trust your magic. It is not I who will be choosing your partner." _She trusted her magic, she just didn't trust theirs._

Their magic would look for a compatible partner much the same way it found their wand; seeking out those with the most similar personalities and affinities. It would also look for someone who was their magical equal, or someone who's magic would balance their own. As an added benefit of the charm, it would also ensure the match had the highest chances of producing a magical child. The Ministry wasn't looking to create a generation of squibs, after all.

_Ludicrous!_ This was barely a step above Pureblood arranged marriages. Malfoy had even been affronted by this law, and that was really saying something!

It didn't stop there though. The Ministry seemed to have borrowed from multiple existing premises in order to coerce the young into marriage and procreation.

_Dolts wouldn't know how to formulate an original idea if their lives depended on it._ She huffed.

Taking from the charmed coins used by the Order, each pendant would heat upon nearing its counterpart, growing warmer and warmer as they drew near. It would also cool should the distance between them grow.

_It's like a twisted game of hide and seek no one wants to win._

The shrill witch who had been tasked with spearheading the _"Magical Matches"_ as they were being called, had also explained that the charm placed on each pendant incorporated a similar element to that of the Hogwarts sorting hat. As such, each witch and wizard still retained the ability to 'choose' their partner.

_Choose. HA! Anyone who believed thay had any choice in this should be committed to St. Mungo's immediately._

Should two parties decide to forgo the search for their _"Magical Match"_ and opt to instead marry each other, the charm would accept and register them as a match.

_How generous of them to allow us that 'option.'_ She had drawled.

Appointments, she was told, would be finalized by 5 PM, at which time all pendants would be activated. With a flourish of her wand, Hermione checked the time. 4:57 PM. She would not put the pendant on a moment before she had to.

Once activated, the pendants could not be removed and would never grow cold, unless the match was out of the country. Even magic such as this could only reach so far.

She pitied the young witches and wizards who might have to travel halfway across the world and marry a stranger. _What if they didn't even speak the same language!?_

It would be better to marry someone they knew, wouldn't it? A friend. Or perhaps, like her, they would see that as worse; Marrying someone you _knew_ but had _no_ romantic feelings toward and knew you never would. She hadn't been able to bring herself to it a month ago. But that was still a possibility, if this damned thing decided it was so.

She had considered leaving the magical world and living as a Muggle. Being Muggle-born herself, she knew it would be easy for her to assimilate back into the Muggle world. At least physically. But emotionally? She wasn't sure.

Perhaps she could obliviate herself. Have someone provide her and her parents with false memories where they could all be happy; ignorant to any magic other than that they saw on TV. But was that what she really wanted? Could she obliviate her parents AGAIN?

Because each pendant was marked with their magical signature the ministry would know if any witch or wizard failed to put on their necklace. A team of Aurors not subject to the law would be dispatched to retrieve and bring them to the ministry for failure to comply.

Another supposed 'choice.' You didn't HAVE to put it on, but such an act indicated to the Ministry you had chosen not to abide by the law and agreed to having your wand snapped.

Another flourish of her wand. 4:59 PM.

She hoped beyond hope that their magic was flawed; that the charms would not work, thus granting them more time.

Time. There never seemed to be time.

She had almost convinced herself she would feel nothing but coldness, but the moment she slipped the chain around her neck, the pendant trailed along her flesh, and she felt it grow warm, ever so slightly.


	3. The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing but an over-active imagination.

5:07 PM. Hermione's fireplace roared to life. Her home was suddenly filled with Weasleys, all solemn-faced and nervous as they stood in her living room. Ron, George, and Percy Weasley all looked at her apprehensively; Hands clenching their own silver pendant. Ginny and Harry filed in behind them, looking on with anticipation, and Hermione instantly knew why the men were there.

They had come to see if she was their match.

As she looked to them in silence, she wasn't sure if they were hopeful or dreadful. And she wasn't sure of her own mine either.

She loved Ron, but more as a friend than anything romantic, as they had found discovered not long after the war.

She could see herself falling into a casual laugh-filled life with George but knew they would never come to love each other as anything beyond what they already shared.

And a marriage to Percy, she knew, would be nothing beyond a disaster.

She hadn't noticed any change in temperature from the object now nestled in her modest cleavage, but then again, her mind was quite preoccupied working through becoming a Weasley wife. But as it turned, out she didn't need to check her own necklace as she saw all three wizards' hands drop to their side and sigh, two with relief and one in sadness.

"Well it looks like today just isn't your lucky day, Hermione," George quipped with a forced smile on his face. "You won't be the lucky witch to take me home to mummy and daddy, it seems."

Piercy straightened formally and quickly turned to leave. "Good luck everyone," he called from the fireplace. "I'll see you all at brunch on Sunday." And then he was gone, disappearing into the green flames.

George plopped unceremoniously on the sofa and grinned up impishly. "Well at least I know she's in the country. How about you? Warm or cold?"

"Warm," Hermione and Ron answered in unison before looking oddly at each other.

Ron made his way sluggishly to sit next to George, as Hermione turned to fetch drinks for everyone, puttering about the kitchen trying to ignore the faint warmth on her chest and the knots in her stomach.

"Warm, but not hot," she said as she reentered the room, handing everyone a bottle of pumpkin juice. Another flick of her wand. 5:12 PM. "I wonder how many matches have found each other already," she questioned out loud. How many indeed. How many had found their "Magical Match?" How many were crying tears of joy? Tears of relief? Tears of sadness.

She imagined families and friends across the wizarding world coming together, just as the Weasleys had. Just as she was now. No one answered, merely becoming lost in their own thoughts as they quietly slipped from their bottles.

* * *

Hermine he was exhausted. The days since the activation of the marriage law charms had been filled with the same thing day in and day out. Every day, her floo roared to life again as more friends, former classmates, and colleagues stepped timidly into her living room in an attempt to narrow down their perspective brides.

The Ministry had activated the charms on a Friday, in hopes of allowing them the weekend to begin seeking out their future spouse. Hermione did no such searching. She absolutely refused.

She would go about her usual routine with zero deviation, with the exception of her annoyingly frequent visitors. She wasn't all that surprised when she received a floo call from Ginny late Saturday night, letting her know brunch was cancelled.

* * *

Everywhere she went, Hermione could see the sparkle of those blasted silver chains or the light reflecting from the pendants as witches and wizards walked by. Every time she passed a young wizard who hadn't already paid her a visit, she watched as they drew closer, their steps slowing; Hands reaching to their chest as their eyes bore into her.

Some barely reacted upon realizing she was not their match. Others rolled their eyes in irritation, as frustrated with the process as she was. Others seem disappointed, and she couldn't help but wonder if it was because of her specifically, or just because their search would have to continue.

The prophet had begun announcing "Magical Matches" on the front page. _As if we don't already have constant reminder with this damn thing hanging around our necks like a shackle_. It was never a simple article or a sentence casually mentioning the soon to be wed couple. They were trying to sell it, with detailed backgrounds on each witch and wizard and any tidbit of commonality they could muster.

_Like a few common likes or interests or being in the same year at Hogwarts meant ANY of these people would EVER truly be happy again_.

She was pleased to see the names of a few couples she knew. Although she wondered if they were truly matched through magic, or if the reality and gravity of their situations had set in and they merely decided to accept each other versus marrying a stranger.

But Monday, she thought, Monday everything would be different. Monday, when the majority of the wizarding world returned to work, how many people would feel a growing heat around their neck?

* * *

The moment she stepped into the atrium, she felt as if she were back during the war. Witches and wizards were walking, running, scattering chaotically everywhere she looked. Along the walls, in the halls, and on the floor, young witches were on their knees; Holding themselves, crying, shaking as those around them attempted comfort.

Didn't they know? There was no comfort to be found.

It seemed many more witches and wizards had found their match.


	4. The Close Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing but an over-active imagination

Nearly 30 minutes later, Hermione swung the door to her small office open wide, relishing in the loud thud which echoed as it met the hard wood wall.

"How do they expect us to conduct business?" she asked the empty room. "Looks more like the Janus Thickly Ward on double pudding day then a government office." The last bit she muttered under her breath.

Swinging her briefcase, she allowed it to land on her desk with a smack before removing her robes and tossing them onto a chair in the corner. Merlin, was she in a bad mood! But running the gauntlet that was now the Ministry would put anyone in a bad mood.

She sat down behind her desk and immediately reached into her drawer for a potion to keep her growing headache at bay. As she leaned forward, searching deeper for the vile she _knew_ was there, but was somehow evading her, the collar of her blouse gaped, allowing the pendant beneath to dangle away from her chest.

"Granger," the deep sugary drawl of her name startled her, and she straightened too quickly, almost falling out of her chair as her eyes shot to her doorway. That's when she felt it, as her shirt again drew taut against her body, pulling the charmed necklace back flush against her chest.

IT WAS HOT!

She gasped, and she reached up to tug at the offending object. As her slender fingers wrapped around it, she could feel the heat radiating outward through the thin fabric of her blouse. On instinct, she pulled, attempting to rip it from her neck, but only succeeding in jerking her own head forward.

"You alright there, Granger?" Their eyes locked.

_No! Not him. Godric, anyone but him._

He must have noticed the panic in her expression, because it was then that the tall Slytherin began to truly take in the sight of her, eyes finally landing on her hand clutching at her chest. Realization dawned on him, and he stepped fully into her office.

"Breathe, Granger. Just Breathe." His voice was calm and low. His hands out, palms down and flat as he stepped slowly toward her, reminding her of someone approaching a hippogriff for the first time.

She stood up, knocking her chair over with the backs of her knees. He froze.

"It's ok, Granger. It's not me. I'm not your match."

Her head cocked to the side. "W-what?"

"That's what's happening here, right? Your pendant, it's growing hotter?"

"Yes! But-"

"Mine's not," he offered, cutting her off mid thought.

"It burns!" She cried out.

"Does it? Does it really? Or are you just panicking?" He was moving toward her again, quicker, but still just as cautiously. He walked around her desk, and she summoned all of her Gryffindor courage to keep her feet in place. She wouldn't run. Even if THIS WIZARD was her fate.

He reached out his hand, and slowly pried her fingers loose. The necklace fell back against her skin, and she realized he was right. It was warmer, definitely warmer, but it wasn't red hot. It didn't burn.

Still holding her hand, he turned it over, palm up, as he reached under his robes and pulled on his own silver chain, revealing its pendant. Pulling her hand toward him, he gingerly dangled it over her hand, finally letting it drop into her waiting palm.

She breathed in a shuttered breath. It was cold; Ice cold. She closed her fingers around it, relishing in the feel of it. Tears of relief fell down her face, before she realized she was pulling on the necklace, forcing the wizard's neck at an odd angle.

"S-Sorry," she offered, letting go and withdrawing her hand.

He pulled a monogramed handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her before walking back around the desk and toward her doorway.

"I'll try not to be _terribly_ offended that the idea of marrying me sends you into such a state." That practiced drawl was back. How she hated it. So holier-than-thou.

Hermione was overcome with embarrassment; at allowing this man to see her in such a weak state as well as for being so insensitive at the prospect of him being her match.

"I didn't mean to-"

He held up a hand, turning to look at her over his broad shoulder, a playful smirk on his face. "I'm only joking. Besides, you're not really my type either."

Relieved at his word and the relaxed expression on his face, Hermione breathed easy, even allowing a small smile to grace her lips.

"I know. I'm not rich OR married. Isn't that your _type?"_

He laughed. "What can I say? I have expensive taste and I like a challenge," he paused, "but not _quite_ as much of a challenge as I image you would be."

"Challenge?" she quipped. "More like impossible for the likes of you."

This was good. This was familiar. This was how their interactions usually went.

"Don't lie to yourself, Granger. If it hadn't been for this impossible law, you would have eventually fallen for my charms and landed in my bed."

She rolled her eyes, not even dignifying that ridiculous idea with a response as he walked through the door and turned the corner.

"Wait!" She called out suddenly, and his head appeared again in her doorway.

"Change your mind already?" he purred, waggling his eyebrows at her.

"What did you want, Zabini?" she huffed.

"Besides you in my bed?" She narrowed her gaze on him. Hands moving to her hips as she channeled her inner Molly Weasley. "I'm leaving." He said flatly.

"Forever?" she asked hopefully.

Rolling his head, as if it took extraordinary effort, he stepped back fully in her doorway.

"That depends entirely on how attractive she is."

"Who?"

"The future Mrs. Zabini, of course. I'll be travelling for a while."

She dropped her arms, the pieces finally clicking together in her mind. His pendant had been cold. That means his "Magical Match" was in another country. Her face fell, an expression of understanding and pity that the dark-skinned Slytherin did not appreciate.

"Don't you dare, Granger. I'm not one of your poor house elves. I'll do my duty. I'll go find my wife, wherever she may be. And I'll marry her. But don't you think for a second I won't _console_ every attractive witch I encounter along the way." Just like that, Hermione no longer felt for Blaise Zabini.

He smirked at the disgusted look on her face. "I don't pity you. I pity your future _wife."_

As she turned to pick up her abandoned chair, she could hear his deep laughter as he disappeared down the hallway and toward the lifts.

A few minutes later, the increased heat on her chest faded to the now familiar warmth, reminding her of her own "Magical Match."


	5. The Invitation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing but an over-active imagination

Hermione stepped through her fireplace and into the dimly lit room. Today had been a disaster. She had attended more meetings in the last 7 hours than in the entire 3 months prior combined.

The Ministry had decided to 'help' its employees by scheduling dozens of cross-departmental meetings with the sole purpose of locating 'Magical Matches'.

She had attended each one, a stern expression on her face, and watched as witches and wizards discovered their matches and were escorted away.

Percy Weasley and Audrey Wentworth.

Gregory Goyle and Millicent Bulstrode.

Bethany Church and Silvester Bagman.

Mathilda Beetermen and Solomon Fuerie.

Those were the only people she knew. The rest had been nameless faces moving in slow motion as they approached each other, pendants in hand.

As they neared, the pendants heated, falling from their chains and glowed as the abstract designs morphed into silver bands, engraved with their match's names.

Rings!? These pendants are our bloody wedding rings? She cursed the Ministry once more for their twisted sense of humor.

Her own had never heated, not since Zabini had come by her office. If she hadn't felt the coldness of his pendant herself, she would have been certain he was her match. The timing was just too convenient, heating when he arrived and then cooling once he left.

She promised herself she would give no thought to her own match. But her mind sometimes worked without her permission. She knew one thing. He didn't work at the Ministry, unless of course he had caught sight of the fiasco and left shortly after arriving. It had to have been someone simply visiting.

Perhaps a reporter? Hermione grimaced at the thought.

She heard a whoosh behind her and turned to face the fireplace. Ginny's head appeared through the flames.

"Ok if I pop in?"

"Of course!" Hermione replied, thankful it was not another potential husband calling to rule her out as his wife.

Ridding herself of her cloak, she grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses from the pantry, pouring them each a generous glass as Ginny stepped through.

"How are you?" Ginny asked.

"Seriously considering burning the Ministry to the ground."

"Yea, Harry said it was a bit...chaotic today."

"That's the understatement of the century," Hermione snorted. "It was a bloody circus!"

Ginny choked on her wine at her friend's language.

"I'm sorry, but it was."

"So I take it your match hasn't tracked you down yet?"

"No, but I did have quite a fright. My necklace heated up at exactly the moment Blaise Zabini stepped into my office."

"NO!" The redhead exclaimed.

"Don't worry. It's not him. Apparently the poor witch is out of the country. And if she's lucky, she will stay far away from the likes of him."

"But, if they don't find each other, the Ministry will choose someone else for them. Or face an inquiry."

Another brilliant detail of the law.

They only had 4 months to locate their match and marry, or face the Wizengamot.

"Azkaban would be a better option than marrying Zabini." Ginny laughed into her glass.

"He is fit though."

"Yes. And he knows it."

"Tell me again why he works in your department." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Something about the Ministry being an excellent place to become acquainted with a wider supply of victims." At that, the two friends dissolved into a fit of giggles.

They were half way through the bottle when Ginny spoke again. "You know, I heard today that Narcissa Malfoy is hosting a ball."

Hermione was silent as she watched her friend fidget with the edge of her now empty wine glass. She was avoiding eye contact, which meant she was up to something.

"Everyone's to be invited." Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Might be fun."

Ginny looked to the brunette out of the corner of her eye, checking her reaction.

"You're not serious, Gin! I will not attend some ball thrown in order to find a wizard I do NOT want to marry!"

"You will have to find him eventually, Mione. Why not enjoy some dancing and free booze courtesy of one of the stuffiest and wealthiest families in all of Britain?"

Hermione filled her glass to the brim. Watching as some of the burgundy liquid spilled over the top and dropped down its side.

"Besides, don't you want to be there when Lucius lays eyes on his future daughter-in-law? She surely won't be a Pureblood. I think they held a convention or something right away to see who got stuck with who."

"What? Did you get an invitation?" Hermione joked.

"Merlin, no. My family may be a part of the Sacred 28, but we haven't been to one of those conventions in years!"

* * *

Hermione was halfway through the latest edition of _Hogwarts, A History_ when she heard a tapping at her window. Picking up her wand, she opened it and gasped as a large eagle owl swooped in and took perch on her table.

She gingerly took the envelope from the beautiful creature, stroking its feathers lights, and watched as it preened at the attention. She moved to fetch it a treat, but before she could, it took off, soaring gracefully from her flat and into the crisp night air.

She watched it disappear from her sight before examining the small envelope.

"Miss Hermione Jean Granger" it read. _How formal._

She opened it, and her shoulders sunk as the glistening script shown across its surface.

 

The pleasure of your company is requested at

Malfoy Manor

for a

Masquerade Ball

in honor of our new Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt

 

_Who were they trying to kid? They should just come out and say it. "Calling all young witches! Come into the snake pit and find out if you're going to marry our son. Safety NOT guaranteed based on blood status."_

She had never been one for balls and gala's. Not that she had been invited to many, Yule Ball not included. And this event would be nothing like the Yule ball. There was no mention of bringing a guest. Those attending would be expected to pair off and leave with their own match, she was sure.

She wouldn't go. She had told Ginny. And Harry. Ron as much.

She heard the flutter of wings, and a familiar owl came soaring through the open window, dropping a rather large package on her table. She fetched Errol a treat and he hooted this thanks before leaving the way he came.

Hermione removed a note tucked neatly under the string which bound the package.

 

You're going. Wear this.

\- G

 

Untying the string, her eyes grew wide at the shimmering silver and blush colored robes…complete with a matching mask.


	6. The Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing but an overactive imagination. 
> 
> I’d like to answer a question from a guest reviewer: “I do have a question about Blaise though. If his match is a witch from out of the country, how does that work? The British Ministry of Magic gave its' citizens matching necklaces, but foreign witches and wizards wouldn't have those necklaces to "match" them. Am I missing something?”
> 
> So here goes, without giving away Blaise’s match (we will meet her later).  
> All witches and wizards who were citizens of Britain were scheduled an appointment at the Ministry. This included those who lived and worked outside of Britain at the time the law was passed (Charlie Weasley who lived and worked in Romania for example). However, despite being subject to the law, no witch or wizard was required to remain in the country. So, there are several jobs which might take Blaise's soon-to-be-bride out of Britain. Or perhaps she's a Pureblood and is on a shopping trip in Paris to clear her head? Maybe she's a professor, but Hogwarts wasn't hiring so she now works at Ilvermorny, or Durnstrom, or Beauxbatons? We will just have to wait and see...  
> I hope this answers your question and clears things up for anyone else who might have been wondering the same thing.

"Hermione! You're not even dressed?" Ginny's voice resonated through the flat.

"It doesn't start for a full hour, Gin."

"I KNOW! We need _at least_ that for your hair _alone._ "

Hermione reached up, glancing in the mirror at her updo. She had already spent 20 minutes wrangling her hair into a tight bun, a few curls falling purposefully from its center. She was rather proud of herself for managing it, to be honest. It was much better than the messy buns she typically wore.

"And you haven't even started on your makeup."

Another look in the mirror. She had applied it as she always did. A modest amount of nude eyeshadow and rouge. She had even opted to put on some lip gloss and mascara for the occasion.

"Sit. And take that hair down. We don't have much time!"

Hermione held out a hand before her friend could pounce on her. "Hold it right there, Gin. I've already done my hair and makeup. You bullied me into attending this sham of a gathering and even selected my outfit. This is where I draw the line."

Ginny huffed indignantly, but stepped back, turning to go find Harry and Ron who were seated on the small sofa in Hermione's living room.

Hermione took her time getting dressed, wanting to postpone the inevitable for as long as possible. She didn't want to go. For many reasons. She had no intention of returning to Malfoy Manor under _any_ circumstance after the war. Memories of her time spent there under Bellatrix's knife flooded her mind, and she had to fight back the tears threatening to fall.

She also had no desire to discover her match. But her resolve was faltering. The more she thought on it this past week, the more she understood she could not leave this world. It was her home now. She had fought for her place in it. She had bled for it. Her friends had died for it.

When she could find nothing else in her bedroom to occupy herself with, she joined her friends. Ron gulped when he saw her, Harry's eyebrows shot up approvingly, and Ginny smile broadly, admiring the robes she had selected.

"Do I know fashion or what?"

"You look beautiful, Mione. As always." Harry grinned at his best friend, but his eyes were still sad; Not forgetting what tonight really was.

"Thanks, you guys." She smiled softly back. "So, who wants to blow this thing off and go to the Three Broomsticks instead?" Her voice was optimistic, but she knew better than to hope.

"Absolutely not! Looking like you do? You cannot possibly deny EVERYONE seeing that figure of yours."

"GINNY!" Hermione chided, but was unable to stop the small smile and slight blush that appeared at the compliment.

"What?! You're fit! I'm woman enough to admit it. I wish I had curves like yours. You should show them off more often."

"Not a chance." Her status as one of Harry Potter’s best friends and her role in defeating Voldemort put her enough in the public eye. She had no desire to draw more unwanted attention to herself by dressing provocatively.

Harry rose from his seat, wrapping an arm around Ginny and looked to his friends.

"Are we Gryffindors or aren't we?!" _Oh no. Another Harry Potter pep talk._ "We've survived Malfoy Manor under much worse circumstances." _Yes, bringing up our imprisonment there will surely lighten the mood._ "And this time, there's free alcohol!" _You're not funny, Harry._ "So, let's go get drunk on expensive firewhiskey. Forget the rest!"

"Whatever," Ron mumbled. Finally rising from his seat and heading toward the floo. "Let's just get this over with."

"Ronald Weasley! I demand you cheer up."

"Let him be, Gin," Hermione cut in. "I think it's perfectly acceptable to be in a foul mood. I know I am."

Ginny visibly deflated. She was trying so hard to get everyone in good spirits, Hermione knew. But she didn't have the energy to fake any amount of enthusiasm for her friend.

With a final look around, she stepped into the fireplace. At least she could make the effort and be the first one through. Lead the charge.

"See you on the other side."

She felt it as soon as she had stepped through; the pendant on her chest heated to much the same temperature it had the other morning in her office. He was here. _Fuck._

She stood beside the fireplace and waited for her friends. She watched as they emerged and saw the look of horror on Ron's face. He looked over to her frantically, their eyes locking, and they both knew.

"You too?" He asked sheepishly, as if it needed to be said out loud.

"Me too," she replied. 

* * *

Harry and Ginny had to be encouraging. Tried to convince them to mingle and find their match. Nothing had to happen tonight, they reminded. They would have months to get to know the person before they had to marry. Nothing had to change tonight.

But they were wrong. Tonight, everything might change.

Instead, she and Ron had taken up residence at one of the tables scattered around the grand ballroom. The one furthest from the merriment and the mirth...and their potential matches.

Every so often they would send Harry for another glass of wine. Another firewhiskey. But they didn't dare move.

Hermione could feel the alcohol coursing through her body, making her feel light and heavy at the same time. She focused on the couples dancing. She had witnessed enough of witches and wizards stumbling about, pendants in hand, and their subsequent reactions.

She liked watching the people dancing. Even those who had just found each other appeared happy from a distance, as they swayed and twirled around the dance floor. Their masks made it easy to pretend they were all dancing with someone they loved.

Hermione's mask lay on the table in front of her, amongst her numerous empty wine glasses. What was the point of wearing it anyway?

Ginny rushed over, chest and face flush from dancing. Sitting down, she took a large sip from Hermione's glass before gasping to talk.

"Luna and Rolf were a match! Isn't that great? A true match! That's got to make you feel better, right Mione?"

"Nope."

"Well, at least come dance! You have done nothing but sulk in this corner all night."

"That's not true." Ginny raised an eyebrow. "I've also been drinking," Hermione said proudly.

"Merlin's balls. You're drunk!"

"Yep."

"You're impossible." With a huff, Ginny turned and looked in the direction Hermione had been facing. "Fine. Let's see what's so interesting from way over here then, shall we?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. There was _**nothing**_ interesting at all. Harry sat down next to Ron and began speaking quietly. She was sure he was trying to pry him away from his seat as well. She watched them for a while and felt a pang of remorse each time she caught Ron glance her way.

_If only Ron and I had worked._

Suddenly A hand flew out and nearly smacked Hermione in the face.

"What the-"

"Look! Finally, some action!"

"What are you on about?"

"Well! Now that you ask," she turned to face Hermione, gossip on her tongue. "Apparently Malfoy tried to stage some sort of protest, refusing to attend the ball!" _Good for him._ "He's been hold up in his room all evening with Lucius blasting spells at his door and threatening to disinherit him if he didn't come down." _That was probably an exaggeration._ "Buuuuut," she spun in her seat and pointed to the far side of the room. "Here he cooomes," she sing-songed.

"And why, exactly, do we care?"

"BECAUSE! Look, mummy and daddy are escorting him all around the room like a little child trying to find his future bride. OoO," she giggled, "this is going to be rich!"

Her red headed friend kept talking, but Hermione wasn't paying attention any longer. Her necklace was getting hotter. MUCH hotter. She looked frantically about the room for any wizard who was approaching. But no one was near them.

She couldn't do this. She couldn't stay. She didn't want to get married. She had so much to do. She wanted to travel. Wanted to establish her career. She didn't know anything about being a wife, much less a MOTHER.

SHE WAS GOING TO HAVE SEX!

She felt as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. She couldn't breathe. She needed air. She needed to get out of here.

She jumped from her seat and bolted toward the exit, leaving her friends to stare wide-eyed in surprise at her retreating form.

She just needed to make it across the ballroom and through the doors. Then she would run. That’s what she would do. She would run until she could no longer feel the heat on her chest. But the further her feet took her across the marbles floors, the hotter the pendant became.

She looked over her shoulder, certain she would see someone following her, closing the gap between them. But she saw only startled and confused onlookers, whispering quietly about Gryffindor's Golden Girl’s odd behavior.

She sped up, ignoring the people around her and casting quick glances over her shoulder. She was almost to the door when she collided with someone.

Hermione stumbled back, barely catching herself before falling onto the ballroom floor. Still frantic, she looked up to find questioning grey eyes staring down at her.

Malfoy, of course she had almost barreled over Malfoy. But she didn't have long to think on it. She had to get away, before he found her. The pendant felt as if it was burning her. She grasped it in her hand, struggling futilely to remove it.

"Miss Granger?" A delicately feminize voice called out. She looked to Malfoy's side and saw his mother, shock and concern littering her face.

"I apologize," she spoke as calmly as possible, but her words came out in a stammering gasp. She looked around to everyone who’s eyes were now fixated on her. "I-I was just leaving."

Lucius, it seemed was the only one who refused to look her way. His eyes were locked firmly on his heir. The angle of his face and the look of abhorrence he was directing toward the youngest Malfoy showed his age; his features no longer as taut and sharp as they had been before the war. But age lines and wrinkles only increased the severity of his gaze.

Hermione quickly looked away, glancing in the direction of his glower. "I didn't mean to run into you, Malfoy.”

A crowd was forming around them, blocking her retreat. The only way out was through a wall of Slytherins, and Malfoy hadn’t moved a muscle. His light grey eyes were wide; his face emotionless. It was unnerving.

I'll just be - oww!" She shouted, finally dropping the red-hot pendant and looked down. "Merlin these things are a safety hazard!"

She rubbed her hand roughly, as if willing it cool, before returning her gaze upward toward the stoic blonde before her. Why was he still watching her?

"What!? She yelled. "Why are you staring at me like that, Malfoy? I've apologized. Now move so I can leave!"

"Miss Granger." Lucius stepped forward. Finally directing his attention toward her with familiar, yet older grey eyes. "It would appear we have things to discuss. I cannot allow you to leave.” His voice was severe; his tone clipped.

"What do you-" And that's when it happened; a flash of white at her chest followed by the faint clink of metal meeting the marble floor. She no longer felt the heat at her chest. She looked down. The chain was empty.

Realization hit her like a ton of bricks as she adjusted her gaze to take in Malfoy’s full form.

_No!_

His hand was at his chest, balled into a tight fist; his knuckles white from the force with which he was clutching the small object.  

_Please no!_

Slowly, he opened his hand, and a second silver band fell to the floor.

 

 

 


	7. The Match

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing but an overactive imagination.  
> It's been a while, but moving houses took a lot longer than I expected this past week. None the less, we are in and have internet access, so you can expect more frequent updates again! Thank you for all your reviews and support. You are all awesome!

There was an audible gasp across the room, followed by utter silence. Even the music had stopped.

"No." This time she said it out loud. "No!" She shouted, eyes transfixed on the two silver rings at her feet. She stumbled back, repelled by the sight of them and everything they signified.

She turned around, looking desperately about the room. She searched for someone, anyone to tell her this wasn't happening; that Draco Malfoy was not her match. But she found no such relief.

"Miss Granger," the elder Malfoy hissed. "Do control yourself." Her head shot over, a fire igniting behind her honey brown eyes.

"Control myself? CONTROL MYSELF!"

She took an imposing step forward and then felt the warmth of hands on either arm. On instinct she withdrew, hand moving to the wand concealed beneath her blush-colored robes. As she spun around she realized it was Harry and Ginny who had finally made their way through the throngs of guests. George and Ron stood behind them faces flaring red with anger.

"Hermione," Harry spoke softly, comfortingly almost, but there was no comfort to be had.

"It's not true, Harry," she shouted. "It's not true! It can't be right; it's not him. Tell me, Harry, tell me it's not him! They made a mistake. The ministry made a mistake!"

She threw herself into his arms and he welcomed her as he always had. Ginny wrapped her arms around her back holding her closely, protectively, before turning to face the three blondes at her back.

"You did this didn't you?" Her eyes narrowed in on the two Malfoy men. "You bribed somebody, did something to alter the magic. There's no way you're Mione's match. There is no way you're going to get away with this. We will go to the Wizingamot; we will talk to Kingsley! he'll fix this. We will prove you cheated and the three of you will finally rot in Azkaban, like you've always deserved!"

"You bloody ferret! How much did it cost? You've always had it out for Hermione. What's this, some sick way to punish her because your side lost the war? I'll _Avada_ you where you stand before you ever touch Hermione!"

Ron rushed forward, wand pointed at the younger Malfoy, but was stopped by none other than Kingsley Shacklebolt himself. In a low hush voice, he spoke. "Settle down now, Ron before you do something not even I can save you from."

Shacklebolt raised his wand to his throat, using _sonorous_ to amplify his voice throughout the ballroom. "Everyone let's allow these two their privacy." With a wave of his wand the music sounded again, and reluctantly the guests began to turn. Ginny, Harry, and Ron's eyes were still fixed on Malfoy.

Hermione turned, back straightening, chin jetting out. She refused to shed any more tears in front of Malfoy. She had wasted enough of them during Hogwarts.

Malfoy and his parents were now side-by-side, arms touching, having closed their ranks at Ginny's slanderous accusation. Malfoy opened his mouth to speak for the first time, but his jaw snapped shut as his father's voice boomed.

"Miss Weasley, it will do you well not to accuse me of such a preposterous idea in my own home. I had imagined even you have been brought up with better manners than that. You are a guest in my home I must insist you behave accordingly."

His stance was hostile, and Hermione did not fail to notice the way his hand caressed the serpent on the end of his wand. But he did not draw it, leaving it encased in the safety of his cane. Narcissa took a step forward but did not dare step closer as Hermione's friends all matched her step forward, shielding Hermione.

"We should take this discussion somewhere more, _private_. I assure you we have done nothing to interfere with this law or its magic for my son's match." Her voice was soft yet firm.

"I think that is an excellent idea, Mrs. Malfoy," Kingsley stated. "If you would be so kind as to as to lead the way, I believe we would all appreciate the opportunity to discuss this matter calmly and away from prying eyes and ears."

"There's nothing to discuss," Hermione spoke, warm brown eyes meeting steely gray. "I will never marry your son."

* * *

The group of Gryffindors stood in close quarters in Lucius' study. On the opposite side of the room sat Lucius himself, behind a large wooden desk, his son seated at his side and his wife standing at their backs, a dainty hand on each of their shoulders. They were rigidly formal. Shacklebolt was seated in the chair across from them, listening calmly as Lucius shouted.

"This is an outrage! To be treated this way in my home, in front of our guests! I demand the Ministry take action!"

"Lucius, no law has been broken."

"The law of civility certainly have been!"

"I'm afraid I have no authority over matters of civility, Lucius."

Hermione watched closely as Narcissa smoothed her hands over her husband's shoulders; A slow, calm, and deliberate motion that brought upon a drastic change in his behavior. He took a calming breath and when he spoke again, his tone was smooth and even.

"Of course, Minister." Narcissa's face softened. "On to the more pressing matter. When should my son report to the Ministry in order to clear up this matter?"

"What do you mean?"

"Obviously there will be no wedding here. When will the charm be reset so that we may resume our search for his bride?" There was a slight twitch in Malfoy's right eye.

"Why do you assume there will not be a wedding?"

"The girl said so herself. She has chosen to return to her Muggle world, and as such, my son will require a proper match."

"I have said no such thing!" Hermione bolted forward, staring down first Lucius and then Shacklebolt. "I never said I was leaving!" She was fuming.

"You stated you had no intention of marrying my son. Just as well, really. Given your upbringing, I'm not surprised you desire returning to your kind."

His words were laced with mild disgust and dripping with superiority. It was clear to everyone in the room that while the war was over, Lucius' prejudices against muggle-borns remained firmly intact.

"I AM among my kind, Mr. Malfoy. And for someone who seems to pride himself on manners and matters of civility, you seem to be sadly lacking in both."

Narcissa gawked at the slight on her husband. Lucius' face hardened, his gaze narrowing in on her like a predator ready to pounce. But it was Malfoy's reaction to her words that cause everyone else in the room to stare slack-jawed in silence.

It started with a snort; drawing every set of eyes to his person at the un-Malfoy-like noise. Then, ever so slightly, his shoulders began to quiver, and he averted his eyes, as if instantly becoming utterly fascinated by his own hands which rested neatly on the edge of his father's desk. But the corners of his mouth were turned up slightly, and his cheeks flushed slightly at the effort with which he was restraining himself.

_Is Draco Malfoy… laughing?_

It was his mother who broke the silence with a whispered, "Draco."

His odd conduct and Narcissa's hushed chastising of his behavior seemed so...normal. It was unsettling almost. Out of context it appeared as if the Malfoy's were a perfectly average family rather than prejudice murderous deatheaters. And it seemed to dispel any rash reactions by the Gryffindors which otherwise would have undoubtedly led to aurors being summoned.

Malfoy composed himself; resuming his rigid posture and masked expression before shooting an odd glance toward his mother.

_Curious._

Shacklebolt drew the conversation back to the matter at hand. "Hermione. The law is quite clear. The match has been made. Do you or do you not accept it?"

Hermione was outraged at the question. "I most certainly do not!"

The Minister's head hung mournfully. "You understand, that once refused, I have no choice but to confiscate your wand and bring you in for review?"

"Review!? You mean sentencing! I will NOT give you my wand. I will NOT leave!" Tears were threatening to spill, but she refused to allow a single one to drop. Not here. Not in front of these people."

"Surely Kingsley, there is something you can do," Harry offered. "This is Hermione and Malfoy! There has to be some reasonable explanation."

"Like they cheated!" Ginny exclaimed.

"They're deatheaters! You can't make Mione marry the bloody ferret! I won't let you!" Ron exclaimed, wrapping his arms around Hermione, almost suffocatingly. She pried him off of her. She didn't need protection. If anyone did, it was the family opposite her.

"The law is clear. And there is no evidence there was any foul play. "

"You haven't even looked!" Ginny's face was ablaze.

"Ginny," His voice was kind, but exhausted. "We could not possibly launch an investigation upon every instance that someone is not fully satisfied with their match. The Ministry has neither the resources or the inclination to do so. Our most skilled employees worked on this project. Hermione herself has fully researched and reviewed every scrap of information on the magic involved."

All three Malfoy's looked over appraisingly at the brunette. Even Lucius seemed mildly impressed with her tenacity.

Shacklebolt stood then, turning to face the Malfoy heir. "Draco. You have been rather quiet. Have you nothing to say?"

His jaw tightened, the only sign of his anger. "I have rather a lot to say, actually. However, after my last invitation to speak to you regarding this idiotic law, it was made clear my lack of input on the matter."

_When had he met with Kingsley? Was it before or after she had seen him after his appointment? What had Kingsley told him?_

Suddenly, his eyes were on her, and she was beyond stunned to find them devoid of malice. Instead, it give the impression he was trying to convey something to her. Taken aback, she cocked her head somewhat to the side, showing her confusion. Malfoy rolled his eyes before returning his attention to Kingsley.

"I accept Granger as my 'Magical Match' as deemed by the Ministry." Gasps. "However, given our...complicated past...I request more time before we are required to marry. I think we can all agree it would be in everyone's best interest."

_What does he mean he accepts!?_ Hermione couldn't believe it. Not only because it was Draco Malfoy stating he would marry her, but because he had seemed so outraged at the entire concept of the law a mere fortnight ago. And had he not also refused to attend the ball earlier this evening as protest?

Her face flushed with anger and she moved to confront him, to accost him for his cowardness at bowing down to the Ministry, but she stopped short at a single word.

_"Wait."_

The bored drawl was unmistakable. It was Malfoy. But she hadn't seen his lips move. Eyes locked on his, she wrinkled her nose, as she often did when working out a problem. Maybe she was wrong?

He rolled his eyes again. _"For once in your life, Granger, shut that mouth of yours."_ Her eyes widened. This time she was CERTAIN his mouth hadn't moved. Was he...was he inside-

_"-Your frizzy little head?"_ He finished for her. _"Of course. And they call you the brightest witch of our year."_

Godric! He was in her head!

_"A time for everything and everything in its time."_

_Did he just paraphrase Benjamin Franklin?_

That was all she could think of as his voice echoed through her head. But then she remembered herself, eyes darting around the room, and she took stock of everyone around them. The silence had drawn their attention to the newly matched pair and their sudden and intense eye contact.

Her eyes finally came to land on Kingsley. "Miss Granger?" He was back to using formalities. Had he asked a question?

"I'm sorry?" She offered lamely.

"Mr. Malfoy has accepted the match." His voice trailed off.

"No!" Ginny exclaimed.

"You don't have to do this!" Ron shouted.

"We are here for you, whatever you decide," Harry offered.

_"Wait."_

Again, brown met grey. She wasn't sure why, but something about his voice in her head gave her hope. He must have a plan. He was a Slytherin after all. She knew he had NO desire for her. So, there must be...something.

But what was it? He hadn't told her anything, really. Just to wait. Wait for what? What if he had a way out? What if his way out was to murder her in her sleep! He wouldn't do that, right? She had to make a decision.

Her courage rose and with a deep breath, she closed her eyes before speaking firmly. "I accept."


	8. The Agreement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing but an over-active imagination

They had been alone together for 30 minutes. If her memory served her, which it usually did, it was also the first instance they had ever been alone together.

It had taken Harry and Shacklebolt half as long to drag her red-headed friends out of the room. Lucius was just as reluctant to leave, although his language had come no-where near that of the Gryffindors', as Narcissa led him by the arm out and down the hall with promises of ending the ball and dismissing the guests promptly.

This left only herself and Malfoy. Together. Alone. In silence. For 30 minutes.

He had swiftly moved across the room to pour himself a glass of firewhiskey, which he shot back in a single gulp before pouring another. He had not offered any to Hermione. She didn't care much for the beverage, but was still irritated by his action…or lack thereof.

Rather than return to his previous seat, Malfoy had taken up residence in an alarmingly green high back chair by the fireplace. Resigning herself to the inevitability of being in close proximity to the blonde, Hermione wordlessly moved to take the matching chair opposite him.

She had looked up, expecting him to explain himself, but was met only with a steady gaze and more silence.

And that is how they continued; seconds ticked away slowly as she could ever remember, both refusing to look away.

It hadn't taken her long to decide this was a power move. Hermione was well-read in many matters, including those of business and social strategy. Not many such things were written about in the wizarding world, as they preferred to pass such 'secrets' and strategies down orally, but there were countless books in the muggle world detailing them.

Refusing to speak first, she read, was meant to raise their value and lower your own. It indicates that they do not value your time, or that you require something from them. It did not surprise her one bit that this approach would be practiced by Purebloods.

But she did not understand why he was acting this way after forcing himself into her mind in order to urge her to 'wait.' They were both in the same boat here, after all. Neither one of them wanted to abide by this law.

Tick. Tick. Tick. The seconds continued to pass.

Irritated, she raised her eyebrows, instantly causing a slow smirk to spread across Malfoy's face. It wasn't a power move, it was a GAME. He was messing with her!

Tick. Tick.

"This is RIDICULOUS!" she exclaimed finally, throwing her hands up in frustration. Malfoy's smirk widened.

"I win." Hermione let out a groan.

"This isn't a game, Malfoy. And personally, I'd like to spend as little time as possible in your company, so will you get on with it and tell me what all of that was about?"

"All of what?" he asked mockingly, swirling the amber liquid in his glass lazily before bringing it to his lips, eyeing her over the rim of the glass.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. I will IGNORE the fact that you entered my mind WITHOUT my permission…for now…ONLY because I'm assuming you have an idea how to get us out of this catastrophe."

"I do, but you are going to have to taper down your brash Gryffindor ideas and tap into your inner Slytherin." Hermione's lip curled in disgust at the idea.

"Or, if you don't believe you are up to the challenge, you can always opt for banishment. I'm sure the next witch will be willing to - "

Hermione rose from her seat, hoping her face didn't show her apprehension. She wanted him to believe she didn't care, that she didn't need him or his help to get out of this marriage. But the truth was, she did need him, despite the wave of nausea that overtook her at the internal revelation.

She attempted to mimic his bored drawl, but sadly came up lacking as she spoke. "When you finally tire of the sound of your own voice…" she turned to face the door, breathing deeply as she took the first step toward it.

"Scientific Theory." She froze, sighing on the inside in relief. She hadn't wanted to leave, not without some inkling of a strategy from Malfoy. Blanking her face, she turned round to face him, only to find he was again at the small table refilling his glass. She didn't speak.

"What I find most interesting about the muggle idea is how they got it all wrong. You can't use it to prove an idea, only to disprove one."

_That's it. Draco Malfoy has lost his mind._

"Let's take…..House Elfs, for example…" Hermione narrowed her eyes on him, and didn't miss the pleased expression on his face at her reaction.

"You have been championing for elf rights for years based on a _hypothesis_ that ALL House Elfs would choose to be free if they were educated and allowed the choice. Firstly, it is obvious that such an idea can't be proven unless one was to discuss the matter with ALL house elfs; Even those who are no longer alive. That is an impossibility – even for you, Granger."

Hermione felt the blood in her veins boil.

"Such a study could be falsified, of course, but you must take into consideration that it would simply require a single well-educated elf who, when offered their freedom with no ulterior motives, declined, to refute your hypothesis."

"Dobby should be proof enough to - "

"Now, now, now, Granger. It's rude to interrupt. But, I will indulge you. Dobby was the exception, not the rule. His enthusiasm for freedom does not prove your hypothesis but _disproves_ the theory that ALL House Elfs desire their servitude. And that, by the way, further proves my point."

"What does ANY of this have to do with the law?" Hermione huffed, beyond irritated with the blonde and his condescending tone and demeanor.

"The Ministry is conducting an experiment. They asked a question. How can we increase the dwindling wizarding population? They did research and constructed a hypothesis, most of which it would appear you have already read up on and were unable to find fault. So, they created the law and implemented their experiment. What happens now, Granger? If we are to follow the steps in your scientific theory? Use that big brain of yours."

"They have to observe and collect data. They have to analyze the experiment and draw a conclusion as to whether the experiment is successful or not."

"Good girl. And then, they have to communicate the results. So far, their little test subjects have accepted their fates without much of a scene or a fuss, thus allowing the Ministry to draw the conclusion that their hypothesis was correct, and these witches and wizards can be happy. But - "

"If even a single match were to be a glaringly obvious failure - "

"The Ministry would be unable to deny that the process doesn't work, at least not all the time. The press would have a field day. It may not be enough to destroy the concept entirely, but if we enlist the proper support, we might have a chance to force the Wizingamot's hand."

The gears in Hermione's mind were turning, and for a moment she was enthralled by the concept, despite the infuriating wizard she was discussing it with.

"They would never come out and admit they were wrong!" She had enough experience in dealing with the Ministry to know this.

"No, but they might be persuaded to remove the compulsory aspect, making 'Magical Matching' optional. I'm sure there are plenty of young witches and wizards who would find the notion romantic if it were an option given to them when they were ready and willing."

"No amount of experimentation can ever prove me right; a single experiment can prove me wrong."

"Precisely."

"So, what do you propose we do to - "

"Oh, Granger. We let nature take its course." Hermione looked on puzzled.

"We don't have to DO anything. You and I together is clearly absurd. Once our names are published as a match in _The Prophet_ everyone will already be in an uproar looking for reasons we should not be married. We play our parts as the dutiful witch and wizard complying with the law and let our mutual abhorrence for each other do the work for us."

Hermione pondered on it for a moment, before a glass of firewhiskey was shoved forcefully into her hand. Looking up questioningly, she was met with a steady gaze. His eyes bore into her own, and she noticed for the first time the small flecks of blue that seemed to swim amongst the grey. Clinking her glass with his own, he raised it up in a mocking toast.

"To the mutually beneficial destruction of our engagement."

She felt the amber liquid burn its way down her throat, feeling the pain fitting as she closed a deal with the devil.


	9. The Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing but an over-active imagination

An hour later Hermione was pittling about her flat, more irritated and flustered than she ever remembered feeling; Having only moments ago successfully casting the counter curse to calm her flailing arms and legs.

"Insufferable git," she mumbled to the empty room. How in Merlin's name had the blasted charm ever put them together?

After agreeing to Malfoy's plan, Hermione proposed they sit down and develop a concrete strategy, but the blonde was not so inclined. Instead he seemed to relish in getting under her skin, mocking and belittling her ideas at every turn.

It made complete sense to come up with a timetable, to outline ideas with which they could demonstrate to the wizarding world that their 'Magical Matching' system was flawed. Surely Malfoy could see the logic in a tangible plan.

She suggested that they arrange a series of public appearances (she refused to call them dates) and develop situations which would result in displays of anger and discord. Not that it would take much acting on her part to do so.

Malfoy insisted that she was overthinking it. And, that her idea was flawed because it went against traditional Pureblood courting customs.

"Like a typical Gryffindor, your plan lacks tact. Shacklebolt already suspects we have no intention on following through with this marriage."

"How can you know that?" Malfoy sighed, as if the conversation physically pained him.

"He's no fool, Granger. He knows both our temperaments well enough to know neither of us are easily dismayed at a challenge. We have also made it quite clear our feelings on the law as a whole, as well as recognizing we hold no fond feelings toward each other." Unfortunately, he had a point.

"And he knows my father. Despite his detestation for this match, we have a reputation to uphold. When the situation dictates it, Malfoys do what is expected of them. We fulfill our obligations while maintaining our proper upbringing. Something someone such as yourself could not possibly understand. Purebloods do not galivant about flaunting their relationships in the public eye. There is an appropriate way to conduct such an arrangement."

Hermione's face was aflame. "You have rules on how to act when being forced to marry?"

"Of course. Purebloods have practiced arranged marriages for centuries. It is how we have ensured our bloodline remains pure...as well as how we have secured our fortunes."

It was taking every fiber of self-control she had in order to refrain from hexing the wizard in front of her. "Do you treat everything as a business arrangement?"

"There's something to gain from every situation, Granger, if you keep your wits about you. Why do you think the Weasleys live in such squalor? They were long ago blinded by idiotic ideals of love. It's sheer luck their family remained a part of the Sacred 28 so long."

That's when she lost her temper. The Weasleys had always been like family to her and Harry, and she would be damned if she stood there and said nothing as Malfoy talked about them that way.

After a few choice words and a _langlock_ jinx to ensure Malfoy was unable to speak, she stormed out, only to find herself lost in the winding corridors of the manor. Eventually, Malfoy found her wandering aimlessly and led her in the direction of the floo.

She was surprised at his assistance, having just firmly affixed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, but her slightly higher regard for his self-control quickly vanished as he pointed his wand at her, casting a wordless _t_ _arantallegra_ only moments before she exited through the floo, causing her body into a wild uncoordinated dance as she desperately threw the floo powder and called out her destination.

She could still hear his laughter echoing in her head.

This wasn't going to work. She plopped down on her sofa, hanging her head in her hands as she finally allowed tears to fall.

Malfoy was impossible to work with. They would never be able to tolerate each other's company long enough to reverse the law. And they only had a few months before they would have to either wed or- "

Her fireplace roared to life and Harry stepped through. She took one look at him before breaking down in another fit of tears. He was instantly at her side, holding her as she sobbed.

"Oh, Harry," she sniveled. "I don't know what to do."

"It will be ok, Mione. I promise. You won't have to marry Malfoy."

"What else is left to do?" She looked into his kind green eyes, searching for comfort.

"Well," Harry paused. "Maybe, if you talked to Ron…" his voice trailed off and Hermione's regard hardened.

"Harry, you know I don't love Ron. Not Like that. Not anymore." His demeanor changed.

"I don't get you sometimes, Mione." He stood, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "He loves you. He would be good to you. You must know that. And it's a lot better than you two going through with your 'Magical Matches.'"

Her stomach tightened. Ron. His pendant had heated at the ball as well. Had he found his match? He must have. She looked to Harry for confirmation, the question apparent on her face.

"Astoria Greengrass." Harry spoke sadly. "She and her sister were by the floo when we went to leave and it…happened." Hermione gasped. She didn't know the younger Greengrass sister well, but she knew enough of Daphne and their family's firm belief in blood superiority to feel saddened for her friend.

"Daphne was livid," Harry continued. "Demanding her father do something so her sister wouldn't marry into a family of blood traitors. But he refused. Said at least their bloodline wouldn't be tainted." He spat the last words out as if they were bitter.

"And Astoria?" Hermione had to know.

"The poor girl looked terrified. She hasn't even graduated Hogwarts yet. She just stood there trembling while the whole room erupted around her."

"Poor Ron. Poor Astoria." She could not help but feel for both of them, subjected, like herself, to a law which was upsetting their entire lives.

"I thought Ron's head was going to explode, or that he would pass out from holding his breath. But I bet if we talked to Kingsley...he knows you and Ron were together...I'm sure he would nullify the matches if you and Ron would just accept each other - "

"But I don't want to marry ANYONE!" Hermione was suddenly angered by Harry's suggestion.

"But it's better than - "

"Better than what!? Marrying someone ELSE I don't love!?"

"We all have to make the best of the situation we are in - "

"No! Not ALL of us! You forget YOU still get to marry the woman you love! You and Ginny WANT to settle down and get married; Start a family. You're not like the rest of us!"

"I just - "

"You're right." Hermione interrupted, her tone clipped and cold. Harry looked on surprised. "You DON'T understand me!"

Harry's head hung at her harsh words.

"I'd like you to leave."

"What?" His head shot back up, and he looked at her pleadingly.

"Leave, Harry. And don't come back until you've successfully removed your head from your arse!"


	10. The Rift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing but an overactive imagination.

The next day Ginny came through her floo, waiving a metaphorical white flag in surrender, promising she was not there on Harry's behalf.

The two sat on the sofa and Ginny listened intently, allowing Hermione to detail her and Malfoy's discussion the prior evening.

The red-headed witch, who had originally been so hopeful the law might work in her friends' favor, seemed to finally see the law for what it was...rubbish; Her prior offers of encouragement and her glass-half-full point of view having instantly vanished upon witnessing Hermione's matching.

"I don't mean to sound unsupportive, but do you really think this will work? And even more than that, do you honestly believe you can trust Malfoy?"

"Trust has nothing to do with it. He is a Slytherin through and through. They will do anything to get what they want, and for the first time, Malfoy and I want the same thing."

"But what if it is still some sort of plot?" she whispered. "What if Malfoy is just _pretending_ he wants to bring down the law? What if they really did tamper with the magic and this supposed plan is all just a part of their strategy to distract you? To keep you so preoccupied with something that will never happen that you don't explore other options? What if they are just running out the clock?"

Hermione sat slack-jawed, staring at her friend. What on earth had gotten into her?

"Ginny, do you have any idea how paranoid you sound right now?"

"You can never be too cautious when dealing with a Malfoy. Or have you forgotten that, Mione?" Hermione didn't appreciate the condescending tone in Ginny's voice, but she had to admit that she had a point.

"That's something I could never forget." She rubbed unconsciously at her neck. There were far more reasons for her to distrust Malfoy than to trust him.

"I just don't want you devoting all your time and placing all the hopes of your future happiness on an idea, concocted by a Malfoy, that may not even work! Even if Malfoy is being honest, which I highly doubt, and the two of you are able to show the Ministry that your match was prudent, there is nothing to suggest they will overturn the law. Best case scenario, they reset the charms and you get the chance to look for another partner. Worst case scenario, they force you to marry anyway. You don't know that it will work."

Despite Ginny's argument, Hermione found herself growing more and more frustrated. Didn't anyone trust her judgment and abilities anymore? "And you don't know that it won't. I'm sure that when faced with hard facts and logic - " but she was cut off.

"The Wizingamot isn't like you, Hermione. They don't deal in facts and statistics. They deal in politics. Repealing the law or even modifying it would be political suicide. And I'm sure all the witches and wizards who worked so hard on it this past year would lose their positions. Did you ever think about that? The Wizingamot does not like to show weakness. The war gave us proof enough of that."

"But I have to do SOMETHING!" Hermione slammed her hand down on the sofa, an action that was disappointingly unsatisfying, as the plush cushions absorbed the force almost silently.

"Then do something. Just don't do it with Malfoy."

"I knew it!" she shouted, standing and turning on Ginny. The red-heads eyes grew wide, knowing well enough that an angry Hermione Granger was ill for her health.

"You came to try and talk me into marrying Ron!"

Ginny had the decency to look ashamed, but that did not stop her from pleading her case. "Ron never wanted things to end the way they did between you two. He loves you, and he wanted to give you your space. He was certain that given time, you two would find your way back to each other. But now...there's no time for that, Hermione!"

"I DIDN'T ASK FOR SPACE! I wanted to end things, so I did. Why is that so hard for everyone to understand?" Her face flushed with anger as she stepped back, putting more space between herself and the witch in front of her.

"We don't work as a couple. And if everyone would take a sodding moment to think about it, it would be just as obvious to you as it is to me." Her magic swirled around her, causing her hair to spark and frizz, and Ginny visibly shrank into the sofa.

"This law changes nothing between us!" Tears were forming in her eyes as she continued. "I only want what everyone wants. I want to marry for LOVE! I want to marry when I'm damn well ready! This law has taken that away from me. Away from everyone!"

Ginny's face softened slightly as she watched Hermione's restrained anger morph into sadness.

"You all said you would be there for me, no matter what I chose. But that was a LIE!"

"No, Hermione. We - "

"SHUT UP!" Ginny gasped. "You lied! You wanted to be there for me because you all assumed I would refuse Malfoy and accept Ron! You think there's some sort of conspiracy going on? That the Malfoys somehow forced me as Malfoy's match? From where I'm standing, if anyone tampered with the magic, there's a better chance it was a WEASLEY than a MALFOY!"

"HOW DARE YOU!" Ginny rose and moved to stand in front of Hermione, their faces mere inches away, and both witches reached for their wands.

"How dare you accuse us of something like this!"

"It's easier to believe you lot, most of who hold trusted positions in the Ministry, would have the access and ability to interfere in the matching process than a family of former deatheatters."

"Why the bloody hell would any one of us want you to be matched with Malfoy!?"

"I don't know!" The words fell from her lips. "Maybe you thought it was the only way I would marry Ron. You were awfully keen on the law to begin with, Ginny. That's not like you. It's not like ANY of you! Since when do the Weasleys take anything lying down!? But you did! Every one of you!"

Ginny's wand hand was twitching, begging to cast a hex on her childhood friend. Hermione stood tall, refusing to back down. Finally, Ginny stepped back.

"Harry was right. I should never have come here. There's no talking sense into you. You've lost it." She turned her back on her friend, a calculated risk, given the current level of hostility in the room, but Hermione got the message. Ginny wasn't afraid of her, and she was done with this conversation.

"Do whatever you like, Hermione." She made her way over to the floo, grabbing a hand full of powder from its container on the mantle. "You always have."

And with those lost words, she was gone, leaving Hermione very much alone...in more ways than one.


End file.
